


Get it Wrong, Get it Right

by feraldanvers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldanvers/pseuds/feraldanvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s been mixed up over his feelings for a long time, but it never occurs to him that Cas might be mixed up, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get it Wrong, Get it Right

**Author's Note:**

> AU. Written for [Asexy April](http://asexy-april.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and features Ace!Cas.

"So, have you figured out your plus one yet?"

Dean grimaces. He'd hoped Sam would leave the subject alone for a few days, but it's obvious by now that he was deluding himself.

"I don't know, Sammy," he says, "I'm not really seeing anyone, and Jo said she has something that weekend." She'd actually said she wasn't going to be Dean's date for anything else until he started putting out, but he’s pretty sure Sam doesn't need to hear that.

"Why don't you just bring Castiel?" Sam sounds kind of exasperated, which is hardly fair.

"Dude, I'm not going to ask Cas to be my date for your wedding. We're not even like that."

There's a long pause, and then he hears Sam’s low laughter over the line.

"I didn't say anything about a date, Dean," he says, and Dean can tell he's got a self-satisfied smile on his face. "But if that's the first place your mind goes, maybe you should do something about it."

"Whatever, bitch," Dean grumbles. He's almost relieved when he hears the alarm sound in the firehouse. "Hey, I got a call. See you in a couple months, yeah?"

"Yeah, Dean. Talk to you soon."

Dean hangs up the phone and spares a second to drag a hand tiredly over his face. _Shit._

\---

If Dean and Cas were dating, their how-we-met story would kill at parties. Dean doesn't like to think about it, honestly -- in retrospect, finding Cas lying unconscious, looking nearly dead on his living room floor rates as one of Dean's top three worst moments -- but the guys at the station still give him shit about it, so.

Cas had been the last one out of the building that night, and he was the closest they came to losing someone. One of the ceiling beams had come down and cracked him in the head, and if Dean hadn’t caught a glimpse of a pale foot sticking out from behind the kitchen island, Cas would have been dead. Maybe they could tell how worried Dean was, or maybe the joke was just fueled by relief over the lack of fatalities, but either way? The story of Dean carrying Cas bridal-style out of the burning building had spread like wildfire, if you'll pardon the expression.

The guys still call Cas his wife half the time, but it's not really like that. It’s just that a poorly thought-out trip to see Cas in the hospital turned into coffee, which turned into Cas filling in on Dean's softball team (something Cas has forbidden him from bringing up again _ever_ ), which turned into Dean waking up one day and realizing Cas was his best friend.

It had been weird; the only person who could have ever come close to that in the past would have been Sam, but there was way too much family stuff tied up in that for it to really be the same thing. Dean was Sam's brother, and half the time he was Sam's dad, and on bad days Dean had sometimes wondered if Sam even liked him, or if they were just stuck with each other.

He's old enough now that he knows that's not true, but still. It's not quite the same as having someone who gets to find out all of the worst shit about you and decides to stick around anyway, even though they don’t have to. And that’s Cas.

\---

"So, Sam's wedding is coming up pretty soon," Dean says, overly casual. He's leaning against Cas' counter a few days after his conversation with Sam, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers while he watches Cas cook. It's some kind of veggie stir-fry thing -- for someone who loves burgers as much as Cas does, the guy eats an alarming amount of vegetables -- and the smell is making Dean's stomach growl.

"I know," Cas responds, tilting his head toward Dean just a little. "I sent my RSVP last week."

Dean just stares at him.

"Wait, Sam sent you an invitation?" His voice is disbelieving, and he doesn't even consider how bad it must sound until Cas jerks his head up, his eyes confused and a little bit hurt.

"Sam and I are friends," he says, defensive. He turns back to the stove, eyes pointedly avoiding Dean. "If you’d rather I didn’t go, just tell me."

"No, man! Of course I want you to come. I just figured, you know, you'd come with me. I didn't realize he'd invited you separately." When Cas frowns, he scrambles for something to say that won’t make this any worse. Fortunately, Cas saves him by speaking up.

"Why would I go with you?” Cas sounds genuinely curious. “Aren't you taking a date?" And no, that's actually worse than the silent treatment, because it's skirting too close to the truth.

"I can't exactly pick up somebody at a bar and say, 'Hey, want to come with me to a wedding in California?' I just figured you'd want to come with me, I guess."

"As your date," Cas says, a little amused, and he's got a glint in his eye that tells Dean that he's not in trouble anymore, at least. So, naturally, he opens his mouth and makes it weird again.

“Of course not,” he says quickly. “It’s not like you’re gay or anything.”

Just like that, Cas tenses, eyes not leaving the pan in front of him. His posture is even stiffer than it was a minute ago, and Dean can’t figure out what he did wrong. He knows Cas isn’t gay. He’s never seen him date a guy. He’s never seen him date anyone at all, really, except for that weird few weeks he was with Anna.

“Would you grab the plates?” Cas’ voice is flat, betraying nothing. Dean can tell that they’re done, at least for now, because Cas has this way of shutting down conversations he doesn’t want to have.

“Yeah, sure,” he mutters, plunking his beer down onto the counter. They barely speak for the rest of the night, and Cas’ stillness makes something twist unpleasantly in Dean’s chest. He hasn’t seen him act distant like this since they first met, and he doesn’t like it.

When Dean gets into his car that night, he scrubs his hands over his face, feeling the scratch of stubble on his jaw. He sighs quietly. He’d like to say he doesn’t know when he got this fucked up over Cas, but that would be a lie. Sometimes he wishes he could forget, so they could just be friends, easy as it always was. 

\---

_Eight months earlier_

Dean slumps into the front seat of his car, dropping his forehead to the wheel and squeezing his eyes shut. 

The call had come in thirty minutes before he was supposed to get off, but he'd just shaken off his tiredness and grabbed his gear. He'd known as soon as he got to the scene that it was bad; half the windows of the enormous house had already blown out, and there was a kid in the front yard screaming for her father. By the time they'd found him upstairs, it had been too late. 

No matter how long Dean does this job, he knows that it will never get any easier to deal with that part. The feeling of failing somebody, of having to look at them and know that their life is falling apart because you couldn't do your job well enough, fast enough.

He sucks in a few deep breaths, willing down the bile that’s churning in his stomach. Sam always said that he took it too personally, because of what happened to Mom. _Of course I fucking do_ , he thinks. He wouldn't wish that kind of tragedy on anybody.

Once he’s feeling a little steadier, he puts the key in the ignition and goes through the motions of heading over to Cas'. It’s Thursday, which means Polish night, which means Cas’ homemade pierogi, and no matter how late he already is, he knows he won’t miss it. He really doesn’t want to go sit in his empty house, anyway. 

He’s pulling up to the curb in front of Cas' duplex before he knows it, and he swipes at his eyes to make sure they’re clear. He’s had a rough night, but he’s ready to get past it, and there’s no need to dump this shit on Cas.

He fumbles around in the backseat until he finds the bottle of wine he picked up yesterday, some kind of red that Cas likes and that Dean avoids trying to pronounce in front of anyone. With that in hand, he climbs out of the car and heads to the door.

Dean pauses on the front porch for half a second before letting himself into the house. It’s a sign of how well Cas knows him that he wanders out of the kitchen with a beer in his hand, takes one look at Dean, and stops short. He sets the beer on the side table and crosses the room, sliding right into Dean’s personal space.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice low and a little bit anxious. His eyes are flickering up and down Dean’s body, and he’s probably checking for injuries, but it just makes Dean feel so raw and exposed that he hears himself choking on a sob before he knows he’s doing it. Cas’ eyes go wide with alarm, and then he’s guiding Dean around to the sofa and pushing him down, telling him to wait.

Dean distantly hears pots clanging in the kitchen, and then Cas is back, sitting down at Dean’s side and setting the beer on the table in front of them.

“Oh,” Dean says shakily, “I almost forgot.” He holds up the bottle of wine. Cas takes it with a fond look and a murmured thanks, putting it on the table as well.

“What happened, Dean?” he asks, placing his hand cautiously on Dean’s arm. He’s so sincere, so obviously wanting to help, that Dean can’t stop himself. He lets the whole story pour out, starting with the fire from that day. Before he knows it, he’s talking about his mom, and the whole time Cas sits close and listens.

There’s something about Cas that just having him there helps, and by the time Dean has gotten all of his words out, his face is wet and so is Cas’ shirt. He’s too wrung out to be embarrassed, even when Cas tugs him into his chest and wraps surprisingly strong arms around him.

“It won’t be so bad in the morning,” he promises quietly. “Get some sleep.” Dean’s tired enough that he obeys almost immediately.

The next morning, when he wakes up sprawled over Cas on a couch that’s way too small for two grown men, he realizes Cas was right. It still hurts, but it isn’t so bad; it aches more like a half-healed bruise. He turns his face away from the early morning sunlight, burying it in the warmth of Cas’ neck and inhaling contentedly. He feels like he’s let go of something unbearably heavy.

He freezes when Cas shifts, slipping a hand up into Dean’s hair and dropping his chin down onto the top of his head. Dean doesn’t relax until he hears Cas start to snore softly, smiling to himself at the way he knows Cas will deny it later. He can’t wait to give him shit about it.

Dean freezes again, because it hits him hard all at once how blind he is not to have realized this before. He loves Cas. He’s stupid with it, really, and suddenly all of the jokes from his crew take on a whole new meaning. Dean’s nervous now, twitchy like his skin isn’t fitting quite right, and he eases himself out from under Cas’ hand and off the couch. He tiptoes to the kitchen and gets the coffee down from the cabinet, feeling kind of dazed.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” he mutters to the empty kitchen. The kitchen remains unhelpfully silent.

\---

_Now_

“Okay, you win,” Dean says in a rush when Sam picks up the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says pleasantly. “I’m good, thanks, how are you?”

“Shut up, Paul Bunyan. I’m trying to share my emotions here.” He pauses and then, satisfied Sam is listening, presses forward. “I’m in love with Cas.” Dean sucks in an anxious breath; this is the first time he’s said it out loud, and it’s a little bit terrifying. But Sam, that asshole, just _laughs_.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Dean! Somewhere between ‘Cas says this’ and ‘Me and Cas that’ and ‘For a month I was sure Cas had to be wearing colored contacts, Sammy,’ I picked up that news on my own, thanks.”

Dean scowls and opens his mouth to protest, but honestly? He’s not even fooling himself at this point.

“So what do you suggest, exactly? He’s not into dudes, Sam.”

“Are you sure about that? Have you even _asked_?” Sam sighs gustily. “Of course you haven’t, because it’s easier to pine away than to do anything about it.”

“What? I’m not pining, you dick, and I’m not going to wreck the best thing I’ve got going over a stupid crush, okay?” Dean can’t help but get pissed; Sam’s making him sound like some girl in high school who just heard her first Taylor Swift song.

“Well, you’d better figure out something,” Sam says lightly. “Cas called me last night and told me the two of you were each others’ plus ones so Jess and I could adjust the seating arrangements.”

“He…” Dean shuts his mouth, opens it, and snaps it shut again with a frown. “He didn’t even ask me!” 

“Dean. Please just take half a second and realized how stupid you’re being, okay?” There’s a pause, and then Dean can practically hear the grin spreading across Sam’s face. “I’ll see you sooner than you know it, yeah?”

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean can’t help himself; he smiles a little, too. “Yeah.”

\---

“So were you planning on telling me?” Dean fights down a smirk when Cas jumps in surprise. “Or was I just going to have to figure it out on my own?”

Cas turns away from the sink, frowning at Dean where he’s leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

“You know I don’t mind you letting yourself in here, but I wish you’d at least make a bit more noise. One of these days I’ll think you’re an intruder and go for my stun gun.” When Dean barks out a laugh, Cas just frowns harder, grabbing a towel to dry his hands.

“This, coming from the guy who sneaks up on people like a freaking cat half the time,” Dean argues.

“I don’t ‘sneak’ anywhere. You’re just not very observant,” Cas says, and Dean’s gratified to hear a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, well. Stop changing the subject. I’m trying to find out when you made the decision that I was your date to Sam’s wedding.”

“If I recall correctly, you asked me,” Cas responds. It sounds like a challenge. “I know we didn’t properly resolve that conversation, but it still seemed like the easiest possible solution. You didn’t have a date, and I certainly wasn’t going to have one.”

“What about Anna?” Dean asks, because it seems like he’s incapable of not saying the worst possible thing. “You guys were pretty hot and heavy a while back, right? I’m sure she’d have gone with you.”

Cas’ face goes carefully blank, like a switch has flipped.

“Anna and I aren’t together, Dean,” he says stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was just getting ready to leave.” He makes an attempt to move past Dean, and for some reason, that’s it. That’s the limit of what Dean can take, and he sticks his arm out to block the way.

“No, Cas, no way. I’m tired of you just ending conversations that you don’t want to have. Sorry if I struck a nerve about Anna, but you _never talked about her_. I mean, sure, I knew her, but I didn’t know anything about you guys’ relationship or whatever, because it’s like we can only talk about stuff that you say is okay.” He sucks in a deep breath, kind of surprised at himself, but he’s halfway in it already. In for a penny, or whatever. “You know everything about me, okay? You know about my family, and all of the stupid shit I’ve done. You know I like guys more than I like girls, because I trust you enough to tell you that stuff. But sometimes it’s like you’re determined not to let me know anything about you that matters, and it fucking sucks, okay?”

Cas looks stricken. That’s the only word for it. His eyes are wide, his mouth a tight line, and then he turns and walks the other way, straight out the back door. There’s a split second where Dean is sure he’s blown it, and he’s ready to just cut his losses and leave -- no one sticks around, no one sticks around -- but then Cas calls his name from the back porch and Dean finds himself hurrying to follow.

He settles himself next to Cas on the long bench, knowing he should give him space but not willing to actually _do_ it. It’s just starting to get dark, and he can hear the crickets getting warmed up in the woods beyond Cas’ backyard. It’s one of Cas’ favorite places, and if Dean’s honest, it’s one of his, too.

“There are things I haven’t told you,” Cas begins, and Dean wills himself not to jump to conclusions, to just listen. “Not because I wished to hide them, and not because I’m ashamed, but because it’s been my experience that people don’t understand.”

He pauses, and the silence between them is thick with something Dean can’t identify.

“I know that you’re interested in men and women,” Cas continues, “but I’m… not. Interested. Not in general.”

“Not interested in what? Dating? I mean, I know you, Cas. I know you’re kind of a reserved guy. There’s nothing weird about that.”

“Sex,” Cas blurts out, and then flushes. “I’m not interested in sex. And I suppose, by extension, I’m not interested in dating. I dated Anna to try to get Gabriel to stop setting me up with strangers. She was very understanding, but it wasn’t something I wished to make her do for very long.”

Dean tries to ignore the way his chest aches, because this is as good as a rejection. Instead he focuses on working his way through what Cas is telling him. It seems… well, it seems unlikely, honestly.

“So you don’t like sex? At all?” Despite his occasionally over-the-top flirting, Dean doesn’t have a ton of sex. He can’t really remember the last time he slept with anyone, actually, between the firehouse and working on his car and everything else. But it’s not like he doesn’t like it. “Are you…”

“Dean,” Cas says sharply. “If you’re about to ask me any variation of ‘are you sure’ or ‘have you tried it,’ please don’t. Did you know you were bisexual before the first time you had intercourse with another man?”

Dean just blinks in surprise, and nods.

“Okay, then.” Cas sighs roughly. “I apologize. It’s just that the few people I’ve shared this with, except for Anna, have reacted with disbelief and, in Gabriel’s case, lewd suggestions. I don’t appreciate being forced to explain myself, particularly when I don’t have any way of explaining it that someone else can really understand. That’s why I didn’t tell you.” His voice sounds kind of shaky, not like he’s crying, but close enough to cut right into Dean.

“Okay.” Dean clears his throat, absently watching a squirrel that’s perched on the feeder in the yard. “Okay, so no sex. No dating. I can’t say I get it, because I don’t, but I understand, if that makes sense. I believe you, and I’m sorry people have been dicks to you about it.” He’s not sorry, really, he’s _furious_ at whoever made Cas feel so shitty about who he is.

The first guy who gave Dean a hard time for being bisexual had gotten a broken nose, but Cas isn’t the same as Dean. He’s introspective and usually quiet, and he’s got so much beneath the surface that sometimes Dean feels possessive of everything he gets to know about him, and oh. It’s like he managed to forget the root of this whole situation, and a watery chuckle works its way out of his throat before he can stop it.

“Why are you laughing?” Cas asks warily, and Dean waves a hand at him, shaking his head.

“I’m not laughing at you, Cas, I promise. It’s just ironic.” He licks his lips nervously, though what reason he has to be nervous now, he has no idea. “The whole reason I came over was to try to finish that conversation we had the other day, when I said that stuff about you being gay. I guess you answered my question, at least.”

“What does it matter?” Cas doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Resigned, maybe. “Would it bother you that much? If I were gay, and we went to Sam’s wedding together? If…”

“Dude,” Dean cuts him off, and he decides right then that if they’re getting things out in the open, he may as well just tear off the bandage all at once. “It matters because I’m in love with you, you idiot. If you think I’d have a problem with you being gay, you obviously don’t know me that well.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes, his eyes wide with surprise.

“You don’t have to say anything, okay? I just wanted to know where I stand, and I do now. It doesn’t change anything between us. You’re my best friend, and that comes first anyway.”

“Dean,” Cas says again, and now he sounds frustrated. “Shut up.”

And then Dean’s world is getting turned on its head, because Cas is kissing him, _kissing him_ , and it’s closed-mouthed and chaste, but his heart threatens to climb out of his throat. He shuts his eyes tightly, pressing back into it, and then he pulls away with a gasp.

“Cas, I don’t…” he trails off in a huff of breath that’s far more labored than it has any right to be. “What?”

“I love you, Dean. Even though I’m discovering that kissing makes you less articulate.” He’s smiling now, nose scrunched up adorably, and yeah. Maybe kissing makes Dean dumb, but it’s worth it.

“But I thought you didn’t date? Or is that not… sorry, I’m just trying really hard not to jump to conclusions, and I’m really confused.” Cas’ smile softens but doesn’t disappear, and Dean feels a wave of relief that he’s not saying the wrong things.

“I don’t. I never have, only because I know that physical intimacy is a part of relationships. It never really made sense to get close to somebody when we’d eventually want different things. But I never really had a choice with you,” he says quietly. “You make me want something I know I can’t have.”

“Why can’t you?” Dean asks. He lifts a hand toward Cas, and it hovers uncertainly in the air before he slides it up to rest at the juncture of Cas’ neck and shoulder. He’s never gotten to touch him like this, always just brief touches on the arm or pats on the back that last slightly longer than they ought to, and the difference makes him shiver. When Cas shifts, pressing into his hand, Dean lets out the shuddering breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Because,” Cas says, “I can’t give you the things that you’ll need, Dean.” He looks away. “You’ll want things that I’m not sure I’m prepared to give, and I’d rather have you like we are now than risk losing you entirely.”

“Bullshit,” Dean snaps. “I get to decide what I need, okay? If you’re not willing to give this a shot, that’s fine, but just say so.” He pauses, frowning. “Besides, if you really felt that way, why did you kiss me?”

Cas casts a sidelong glance at him, and then turns his eyes away again.

“I’m only human, Dean, and you’re really _very_ good-looking.” There’s a long, weird silence before Cas snickers, and Dean shoves him before bursting out laughing, too.

“You asshole! This is a very serious moment!” It’s no use, because Cas is gripping his sides and laughing until tears shine in his eyes. Dean gets how he feels, because he suddenly feels like a giant weight has lifted off of his chest. That’s just the way Cas affects him, seems like.

“Fine, if the moment is over, then I’m hungry.” He stands abruptly and turns to head into the house. “If we’re dating now,” he shouts, heading to the sink to wash up, “then I fully expect you to buy me a burger for dinner.” He’s got grease streaked on his forearms from doing maintenance on the truck before leaving work, and damned if he’s going to take Cas out looking grubby. Even if it’s just to Harvelle’s.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Cas calls through the screen door. “If you’re using my lack of dating experience to get free dinners, I’ll have to call Sam.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dean says, and then pauses, considering. “But maybe I’d better buy tonight.”

The sound of Cas’ laughter has always been awesome, like winning something, but Dean thinks it sounds even better now.

\---

“Dean, if we don’t get up right now, we’re going to be late to breakfast. We’re supposed to be meeting Jessica’s family, and I’d like to make a good impression.”

“Don’t wanna,” Dean grunts, his voice muffled by the way he’s got his face buried in Cas’ shoulder.

“I told you not to have so much to drink at Sam’s bachelor party, but you didn’t listen,” Cas scolds, but he’s stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair and he can’t fight down a smile. “If you get off of me, I can get you some water so you don’t feel quite so much like dying.”

“Five more minutes,” Dean mumbles sleepily, inhaling deeply. “You smell nice.”

“Yes, well, one of us had a shower before coming to bed last night, and it certainly wasn’t you, Mr. Passed Out In the Elevator.”

“Shut up.” Dean laughs quietly, turning his head to the side. “You love me even when I’m stinky.”

“I suppose I must,” Cas huffs, “otherwise our friendship wouldn’t have made it past the first month.”

“If you’re trying to snark me out of bed, it isn’t working. It just makes me want to cuddle you until you’re nice again.” He snakes an arm around Cas’ waist and tugs him in closer. His morning erection brushes against Cas’ hip, and he hisses before shifting away slightly. “Oops,” he says, sheepish. “Sorry, Cas.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” he says, thoughtful. They’ve been together for two months now, and they’ve been sharing a bed for almost as long. They haven’t done more than kiss, which Cas really enjoys, and he’s relieved that Dean doesn’t seem to be pressing for more. This isn’t the first time Dean’s gotten hard, though, and he thinks maybe they don’t have to ignore it, at least this time. 

“Would you…” Cas flushes, not sure how to phrase what he’s thinking. He settles on just shifting back over toward Dean, until Dean’s length presses into the hollow of his hip through their boxers.

“Cas?” Dean asks, sleep clearing from his voice as he looks up, surprised.

“Is this… would you like this? Would it be enough?”

“If you’re sure,” Dean says softly, and Cas smiles. That’s all it takes, it seems, to have Dean thrusting against him with a groan. He buries his face in Cas’ neck, hitching his hips forward and rutting against him, and Cas drops his head back and gasps. He’s not aroused, not like Dean is, but it’s not unpleasant. 

He listens to Dean’s quickening breaths and whispered, half-formed endearments with interest, and it’s only a few minutes before Dean’s rhythm falters. He pushes forward one last time with a choked cry, warm wetness soaking through fabric and onto Cas’ skin.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cas says simply, a little stunned, and Dean lifts his head to meet Cas’ eyes.

“Was that okay?” Dean asks anxiously. “I’m sorry if I went too far.” Cas just pulls Dean’s head back down to his chest and presses a kiss into his hair. He ignores the discomfort of his damp boxers in favor of making sure Dean doesn’t worry, or get the wrong idea.

“I promise I’ll tell you if it goes too far, and I won’t do anything I don’t want to do, Dean. But I know you enjoyed that, and I have to admit that I enjoyed watching you.”

“Voyeur,” Dean accuses with a laugh, clearly relieved.

“Perhaps.” Cas hums. “In fact, I think I’d like a set of binoculars for my birthday. I couldn’t help but notice that the couple across the street are quite attractive, and I’ve been wondering what they get up to in the evenings.”

“Oh, ha ha, fuck you,” Dean says. He digs his fingers into Cas’ ribs, tickling him without mercy and savoring Cas’ delighted laughter until they’re both gasping for air and in danger of tumbling off the bed. “Shit,” Dean huffs, “I guess we may as well just get up now.” He climbs out of bed and frowns at his sticky boxers.

“My master plan worked,” Cas intones breathlessly, sprawled across the bed with an arm thrown across his eyes. “You get the first shower. I’ll just keep an eye on the bed for a few more minutes.”

“You’re a monster, I hope you know that,” Dean tells him, shucking off his underwear and grabbing a towel from the linen closet.

“But you love me,” Cas says sleepily, and Dean can’t resist padding back over to the bed and dropping a kiss to Cas’ pink mouth.

“I do,” he whispers. “I really, really do.”


End file.
